


Algid

by StrangeMischief



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2020-10-26 10:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20740382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeMischief/pseuds/StrangeMischief
Summary: “I’m always freezing, Stephen!” Tony snapped, wrenching his arm from the sorcerer’s grasp. “How are you not?”





	Algid

**Author's Note:**

> As always, enjoy :3

_ Algid _

It was midsummer, and the dust settled.

It was midsummer, and the gauntlet was destroyed, the stones nothing more than shimmering dust on the breeze, and Thanos nothing more than a memory.

It was midsummer, and Tony Stark felt everything but warm.

For some time, he hadn’t noticed. There was simply too much else to feel. Relief. Joy. Sorrow. Rage. Fear. Shock. _Everything_.

All of it, bound tightly together, swirled through his chest leaving him a conflicted mess of emotions. One moment he was tearfully clinging to Peter, repeatedly combed his fingers through the teen’s tangled hair and finding solace in knowing the kid was back; that he was real. The next he was screaming and clawing his way out from under his bedspread, flinging Pepper from the bed as his fight or flight instinct kicked into a hard _fight. _The afternoons could be filled with warm smiles with Happy and snarky side comments with Stephen as if all were well. But, by early evening, he’d throw a chair against the wall because his latest suit upgrade failed, or shut himself away in his bathroom, curled up in a ball in the empty tub and shivering – not from the chilled ceramic that pressed against his exposed skin, but the twisted recollection of that midsummer haunting his thoughts. 

It was disturbingly erratic and obviously set those around him on edge. And so, when it began to subside- when the relief and joy, the sorrow and rage, the fear and shock, when _everything, _began to ebb away- he did nothing. He let the numb waves of nothingness wash over the tangled mess of emotion that resided within, glad to finally be rid of it.

But what came next, what replaced the tangled mess, was worse. Far, far worse. For, now, all there was to feel was the last thing he expected to feel in midsummer – cold. And with the feeling came the dark, twisted, icy memories Tony had long since thought, _hoped, _he had sealed deep within him.

Memories of caves and frigid lab flooring. Of forests where December’s snow drifted lazily around him. Of distant lands, covered in snow, and chilled metal. But, mostly, Tony thought of space.

Space and how its chill seeped through his armor despite the heated explosive pressing into his spine. Space, where dimly lit donut ships drifted gracefully through the endless starry skies and the unforgiving grate flooring of Nebula’s ship was so chilled it seared angry red stripes on his skin. Space, where Titan had a night breeze that blew gently but felt like freezing claws raking down his body, pulling back his skin in agonizingly slow and taunting strokes.

Space, where hush, pleading whimpers of, “I don’t wanna go, Mister Stark,” froze his heart and hardened the warm, flowing blood in his veins to ice. Space, where “It was the only way,” hummed in his ear in a resigned, almost apologetic, mumble that brought his thoughts to a standstill.

It was midsummer, and Tony thought of frigid labs, snowy forests, and the freeze of space. It was midsummer, and Tony Stark felt cold.

\---

Months melted away and, suddenly, it was midwinter, and Tony realized he’d pushed everyone away. It was midwinter, and Tony was at the Compound, alone. It was midwinter, and Tony Stark was cold.

It had been months since the cold consumed him. Months since his friends slunk away from his frigid mood and icy comments. Months since Pepper freed herself from the frosty distance and bleak, distant stares. Months where no one noticed, where no one cared.

Until Stephen did.

\---

“Wong sealed the tear between dimensions that the demons slipped through,” Stephen concluded, pulling a hand from his jean pocket and brushing away the snow that had accumulated in his hair during his update. “They’re not a particularly volatile species, but we sent them on their way regardless. Their kind isn’t capable of moving freely through dimensions by themselves, so they shouldn’t be appearing in New York, or anywhere else, for some time.”

Tony nodded absently, mind consumed with swirling snowflakes that drifted over the expansive Compound grounds. They were slow moving and clung together in large clumps the closer they got to the ground. Against the purpling sky of early evening, and with the sharp breeze coursing through his hair, Tony couldn’t help but let his thoughts drift away to heavily wooded forests and harsh Siberian winters.

“Tony?” Stephen called, a tinge of worry coating his tone. Tony’s eyes refocused, and Stephen’s tight frown and worried eyes came into view. He must have been pulled further than he thought.

“Yes, good work. I’m sure it’ll make Hill’s weekend when I put in the incident report.” He offered Stephen a curt nod and a dismissive, “Thank you to the both of you,” before turning to quickly retreat back to the seclusion of his room. The falling snow glinted in the dying light, and Tony flinched, clutching his chest. He needed to go, to get far away before the icy talons clawing up his throat consumed him entirely.

“You’re cold.”

Tony froze and turned to face Stephen, mortification blossoming to the point that it rivaled the cold within. Had Stephen seen the flurry inside? Had he felt the frigid frost that constricted most of Tony’s chest? Did he know how close Tony felt to freezing over entirely?

Stephen’s eyes raked over Tony’s worn jeans and thin overcoat. Attire more suited for late fall than midwinter in upstate New York.

No, Tony realized, the man hadn’t seen within him. Stephen had just seen him shiver.

“How astute of you,” Tony snarked, pulling his coat tighter around his shuddering form. “What gave it away? Me shaking like a leaf? Or me barely being able to breathe?” Stephen said nothing in retaliation. Rather tilted his head slightly, as if something Tony had said had great meaning to it. It was a sobering thought, and Tony chose his next words with far more care. “It’s winter, Strange. There’s ice and snow. Everything’s cold. Don’t overthink it, okay? I’ll see you later.”

Stephen fingered the fringed ends of his maroon scarf and hummed thoughtfully. “Just one second, Tony,” he mumbled, and began to unwind the scarf from his neck. The thing was long, faded, and well beyond what would have qualified as well-worn. But, despite looking several years old, the scarf wasn’t ragged or torn. It instead had the broken-in appearance of a favorite article of clothing.

It looked…loved.

“You should wear more layers,” Stephen softly chastised, stepping closer, much closer to Tony. The distance between the pair was so small that their chests nearly brushed and Stephen’s face, red nose and all, was barely a hair’s length away. “This will only take a moment,” the sorcerer whispered, fogged breath wrapping around Tony’s face, traces of mint and chocolate invading his senses. “Stay still.” And then, Stephen began to carefully loop the material around Tony’s neck.

Tony couldn’t have moved if he had wanted to. He was rooted to the spot, body stiff and mind blank as his very core erupted in a glorious explosion of burning heat.

It was like being spread out before the sun. The cold was gone. _Gone. _Vanished. Consumed in a burst of flames as Stephen’s fingers brushed lightly across his cheek. For a moment he thought it was simply their proximity, or the scarf still holding warmth from Stephen’s skin. But no. It was _Stephen. _

Tony had never stood this close to him. He’d never had such a close, unobstructed of the man’s seafoam-colored eyes and sharp jawline. He’d never had so much of Stephen touching so much of him at once. He’d never felt such _heat. _It was like passing an open storefront on a chilly day, the warm air caressing your skin invitingly as you walked by, or the first sip of fresh cider sliding hot down your frozen chest.

There was heat. There was minty chocolate breath and faded well-worn scarves and impossibly captivating eyes. And, for an instant, a fleeting moment, Tony forgot what it was to be cold.

Warm breath, laced with mint and chocolate, blew across his face and it was so enticing it took Tony several seconds to realize that Stephen was talking to him. “Tony?” Stephen asked, his tone indicating he was waiting for an answer. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Sorry,” Tony mumbled, voice rough and tight “I hadn’t, what was that?”

Stephen’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and his lip quirked in such a way that instantly drew Tony’s attention. Tony’s eyes danced over the fine lines of Stephen’s face, eager to drink in the image of the man looking so carefree, desperate to have something to cling to once the remnants of warmth Stephen seemed to exude left with him. “Are you warmer?” the sorcerer repeated, gesturing vaguely at the snuggly wrapped scarf around Tony’s neck.

“Yes,” Tony croaked, clearing his throat sharply and took a step back. “Yeah, I’m great, thanks.”

Stephen nodded, satisfied and stepped back. “Good.” His hand disappeared and then re-emerged from his pockets, the familiar metal of a sling ring over his fingers. “I’ll leave you then. Peter’s expecting me.”

“You don’t want your scarf back do you?” Tony asked hesitantly, hands rising to unwind the soft material. He wanted to remain bound in its warm embrace, to continue to breathe in the divine smell that clung to its fabric. Just for now, he told himself. Just for today. “If you need it, I don’t want to keep yours.”

“No, no,” Stephen waved him off as a portal sprung open beside them. “You need it more than I do.”

And then he was gone, and Tony nearly wept when the cold suddenly encased him once again.

\---

Titan was freezing. He would never have imagined it, with the golden sun against the auburn sky shining down on the honey-colored desert. But as time went on, the air grew so frigid it felt as if tiny flakes of shrapnel existed in the air. They pricked and poked and eventually _sliced _cleanly into his skin. Tony’s hands shook, gripping at his lower abdomen, blinding pain tearing up his side as icy blood oozed between his clenched fingers.

_Wake up._

“Mister Stark?’

Tony’s head to the side, eyes widening at the cluster of people scattered before him. Quill opened his mouth, eyes shining apologetically, but his body fractured into specks of dust and blew away in a gust of wind.

“Mister Stark, I don’t-I don’t feel so good.”

Drax reached out for Mantis, who was sprawled on the ground. The pair crumbled moments before their fingertips brushed, the dark, ashy fragments of their bodies drifting away in an intertwined spiral.

Stephen’s cloak rippled around his shoulders as if irritated, while the sorcerer cast Tony a regretful look. At his side, Peter stumbled and dropped to his knees as his fingers slowly began to fade away. “I don’t wanna go.”

_You’re alright, Tony._

A small voice from the recesses of his memory whispered that this was wrong. This wasn’t real. The Guardians were traveling through space. Peter was probably sprawled across his bunk bed; a physics textbook open on his gently rising and falling chest. Stephen was…close. Tony could feel the tantalizing warmth that the sorcerer exuded dancing across his skin. He could taste the heavenly scent of chocolate and mint on his tongue.

Tony’s fingers dug deeply into his side in an effort to slow his bleeding, and he struggled to force his feet forward. Already the heavy haze of unconsciousness was tugging insistently at his weakened body. It wouldn’t be much longer until he was alone, blood pouring from his lifeless body and pooling in the sand. He was going to die cold.

“Please,” Tony wheezed, falling forward and landing painfully on his knees and elbows. He let go of his wound and reached out weakly, trembling hands clawing uselessly at the amber sands below as “Please don’t go.”

“You’re not alone,” a hushed voice soothed, drawing Tony roughly from his nightmare. Long fingers brushed gently through his sweaty hair, and comforting heat seeped through Tony’s scalp with each stroke. “I’m here, Tony. You’re not alone.”

Tony’s eyes cracked open slowly, the towering form over him a dark, blurry mass. He drew in a sharp breath, ready to jerk away from the touch, inviting as it was, when his senses were flooded with a sweet, familiar smell — chocolate and mint. _Stephen. _He was alright. He was here. But… “Peter?” Tony croaked, reaching blindly and snagging Stephen’s arm.

“No,” came the timbre response. Tony’s eyes adjusted to the dark, abandoned living room, silver moonlight streaming in from the large windows overlooking the Compound grounds. The sharp panels of the Stephen’s face, basked in an unearthly glow, finally came into view. It was dark, and his mind was still clouded with sleep, but Tony could have sworn the man before him looked a bit…disappointed by his question. “It’s Stephen.”

“Yes, but where-where is he?” Tony sat up too quickly, tipping to the side and nearly falling from the sofa as his mind swirled in sleep-ridden incoherency. “Where is Peter? I need to find him. I need to-”

Stephen’s hands were quickly on Tony’s sides, preventing him from crashing to the floor. “Peter is fine, Tony,” he reassured. “He went home hours ago after your training, remember? May’s with him. All is well. Everyone’s okay.”

Appeased by the answer, Tony let himself relax and slumped back down into the couch. “You’re still here?” he asked groggily, fingers loosely clinging to the hem of Stephen’s sleeve. Warmth seemed flow from the sorcerer and wrap itself around Tony. It was a sensation that he, greedily, wished he could bask in forever.

“Yes, Tony. I’m here.” Even Stephen’s voice broke through the layer of frost that seemed to encase Tony’s soul. “I came to drop o-”

Tony let out a contented hummed, and wove his fingers through Stephen’s, bringing whatever words the other man had to a halt. “You’re warm.”

Stephen smiled softly, but his eyes grew sorrowful. “You’re cold.”

Tony managed to softly sigh, “Always am,” before the delightful heat pushed him back into sleep once more. Later, when he was woken by the purpling light of dawn, he was cold, and Stephen was gone.

\---

Tony had hoped that, after the man had seen him writhing around in terror while he slept, Stephen would avoid coming by the Compound for some time. If Pepper, after all they’d been through, couldn’t withstand the toll dealt from being around him, he doubted Stephen, a man he’d known for a handful of months, would be back quickly.

And yet, there Stephen was, marching through the ankle-deep snow, chapped lips quirked in a small grin when he caught sight of Tony testing a webbing formula. The sorcerer was wearing jeans and the dark overcoat again, and Tony’s breathing hitched for a moment as the memory of the last time he’d seen Stephen dressed so casually raced to the forefront of his mind. His hand subconsciously slipped beneath his collar and across his neck to finger the tightly-wound scarf Stephen had given him.

Stephen stopped at Tony’s side, and Tony, as if a heat magnet, shifted slightly closer, so their sides only just grazed one another. If Stephen noticed he didn’t comment, but rather offered a soft greeting while the brunet continued to fling intricate, spiraling webs through the air. The product worked as Tony had intended, but unfortunately didn’t quite _look _as planned.

“Hot pink?” Stephen chuckled. “You might want to rethink such a bold color. It’ll clash terribly with his suit. But then again, knowing Peter, he’ll be over the moon that you’ve made this for him”

Tony snorted and tilted his head up to give Stephen a searching look. “Did you forget to leave whatever you meant to drop off when you were here last night?” It came out far more brusque than he’d intended, and Tony hardly tampered down the cringe that pulled at his face.

Stephen arched a brow, seeming only somewhat taken aback by Tony’s brisk tone, but said nothing of it. Instead, he pulled a crisp, evergreen colored enveloped from the inner pocket of his coat and held it out for Tony to take. “It’s an invitation. There’s going to be a Christmas party at the Sanctum. It should have the name of your Secret Santa in there as well.”

“_A party?_ You’re having a Christmas party?” Tony mumbled in disbelief, taking the envelope and flipping it absently between his fingers. “_You_?”

Stephen shot him an unamused glare and shoved his trembling hands into his pockets as he shuddered against a sharp gust. Tony idly wondered how the man managed to feel cold when he could practically feel himself melting just by being in the sorcerer’s presence.

“It’s really Peter’s party,” Stephen huffed. “He asked to have it at the Sanctum because it’s ‘cooler than’ his apartment. I just…provided the venue.” He paused, blue-green eyes growing distant with thought before mumbling, “I figured I owed him as much.”

“Kid could’ve had it here,” Tony huffed, gesturing vaguely at the rolling, snow-clad hills that made up the Compound’s surrounding grounds. “What’s cooler than high-tech facility worth billions with the added possibility of a god or super-enhanced being wandering around?”

“And you,” Stephen added, a crooked half-grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You can’t forget the main attraction, can you?”

Tony scoffed and toed the snowy ground beneath his feet, not fond of particular turn the conversation had taken. “You mentioned Secret Santa, was that Peter too?”

“No, it was May’s idea, but she delegated the task to Wong.” Tony must have looked confused because Stephen quickly elaborated. “She felt he was the most neutral of us and would ensure it was fair. He’s assigned the swaps.”

“How thoughtful of him” Tony huffed. Neutral was the _last _word he’d use to describe Stephen’s fellow sorcerer. The man, on the few occasions Tony had seen him since the war, always shot him ill-masked looks of exasperation and irritation.

“Meddlesome is the word I would use,” Stephen mumbled, more so to himself than to Tony.

“How do you figure that?” Tony asked, intrigued. It seemed Wong managed to fall from Stephen’s good graces.

“It’s…” Stephen bit his lip and looked at his feet. “I don’t think Wong truly _randomized _who got matched with who. He continues to deny meddling with it, even though I know he did what he did intentionally despite me specifically asking him not to do this.”

“Did you not get who you wanted, Doc?” Tony teased lightly, waving his invitation tauntingly in Stephen’s face. “We can’t all get Aunt Hottie. Maybe next year you and Wong will have made up and you’ll get a shot.”

“You did not get May,” Stephen snorted, waving off Tony’s hand. “Far from it.”

“Wait,” Tony froze, gripping the paper so tightly it crumpled slightly in his grasp. “Don’t tell me I’ve got _Wong_. The man is an enigma. I’ll never think of what to get him!”

Stephen laughed, his shoulders brushing against Tony with each snicker. Tony drank in the sound, basking in the comforting warmth it brought him. “This is a serious issue, Strange!” he groaned, shoving the invitation into his coat pocket. “Do you think I can just give him a fifty and tell him to get something nice?”

Stephen choked and laughed harder, tears gathering in the corners of his shining eyes. “There are at least three things horribly wrong with what you just said, Tony.”

Hours later, when Tony remembered the emerald envelope and tore it open, he couldn’t help but silently agree that Wong _was _meddlesome. What else would explain the tiny slip of paper with, ‘Stephen,’ scrawled on it in looping cursive?

\---

Tony panicked.

Wong would have been easier to gift. Some tea. A Beyoncé poster. Perhaps some redesigned earbuds. It would have been impossible to tell if Wong would ever _like _the gift, but easy enough to find something that would at least cater somewhat to his interests.

But Stephen…the man was practically _ungiftable_. Where Wong was an enigma, Stephen was a conundrum. The truth was that while Tony knew Stephen, he didn’t really _know _him. Secrecy was a common trait amongst the crowds Tony ran with these days, but Stephen was lip locked to a degree Natasha would be proud of. Anything Tony actually knew he learned from Peter, or through mere observation of the sorcerer.

Stephen drank coffee and teas, but not frequently enough for Tony to notice what he liked. He rarely wore anything besides his navy robes and cloak, so clothing would be useless. Through Peter, Stephen apparently had an affinity for music, particularly the classic vinyl’s, but Tony had never actually seen him listen to anything and wasn’t willing to risk getting something he already had. Never mind books; Tony didn’t dare try and find one the man hadn’t already plowed through twice already.

Tony pulled in frustration at the ends of his scarf, the one Stephen had given him not too long ago. The faint scent of chocolate and mint still clung to the soft material, and Tony couldn’t help but feel a comforting burst of warmth bloom in his chest each time the unique fragrance filled his senses.

Stephen popping a mint in his mouth, staring at Fury in disdain as the Avengers meeting rolled into its third hour. Stephen dropping a peppermint stick in his coffee mug, waving Wong an obscene gesture for calling it disgusting. Stephen dumping a bag filled with _York _mint patties into a bowl and setting it on his coffee table, but not before grabbing a few and slipping them into the folds of his robes.

Mint, Tony decided, was a safe gift and, in candy cane form, came with the added bonus of festivity. It lacked the flashy pizzazz of a fifteen-foot rabbit but had the sentimentality he suspected Stephen would prefer.

But with that one step forward, Tony simultaneously took ten steps back. There were hundreds, thousands, of different candy canes. They came in various sizes, colors, and flavors. There were miniature candy canes, rainbow print candy canes, and jelly bean flavored candy canes. Some were hard; others were oddly soft. Many had curved hooks, but a select few were simple straight sticks. Most were classic, solid minty treats while others boasted novel gel fillings like chocolate or tart. Overwhelmed, he settled on the simple, classic, design and hoped for the best.

“DUM-E,” Tony called over his shoulder, cringing as the bot slammed into a tool tray in its eagerness to reach him. Tony tossed a spool of gold ribbon on an empty lab table before drifting back to where he had set up his own items. “I’m wrapping, and you’re on ribbon. How's your bow making skills?”

DUM-E beeped wearily and slowly took the ribbon in his “hand,” twisting it curiously in the air. “It’s not, nor should it be on fire, you big hunk of junk,” Tony warned firmly. “If you douse that with retardant, and we end up poisoning Stephen, I’ll melt you down for sure.”

The bot beeped in recognition and waved its arm in good faith. The movement caused the small slip of ribbon DUM-E was grasping to separate from the spool, allowing the coil to drop to ground and roll away. He beeped a sharp, frightened sound and rolled after the ribbon, creating a large mess as he went.

Tony watched in a mixture of amusement and exasperation as DUM-E gave chase, the ribbon spreading across the lab further and faster with each move he made. At this rate, the golden material would brush up against something hot and _would _catch on fire.

“Secret Santa is bullshit.”

\---

Tony’s fist had barely grazed the heavy wood of the Sanctum’s front door when the ground shifted beneath his feet, and he found himself standing in Stephen’s sitting room. “Magic,” he huffed, pulling his coat buttons undone as he took in the room.

A table had been set up along the window facing the yard with an assortment of refreshments spread across its surface. A towering fir stood proudly in the corner, gold tinsel and a hodgepodge of mismatched ornaments covering almost every inch of the tree. A number of coats, hats, and scarves had been tossed haphazardly onto the loveseat, and the coffee table in front of it was littered with gifts, some opened and other still concealed beneath colorful paper.

The door to the room swung open, and Tony perked up, expecting Stephen to drift in, and tried to not feel disappointed when May Parker strode into the room, her disgruntled nephew trudging in behind her.

Judging by the pink in his cheeks and the half-melted snow sliding down his jacket, Peter had just been outside. And, given the dark scowl on his face, he’d much rather be there than trailing after his aunt. Tony added his gift to the small pile on the coffee table, and offered the pair a quick, “Hello,” but they paid little mind to him, too caught up in their disagreement to really notice him.

“You should have brought a hat to start with. It’s below freezing, Peter,” May lectured sternly as she grabbed an oversized purse from a sitting chair. “Super-healing or not, I will not let you dance around outside with wet hair.”

“I wasn’t _dancing,_” Peter rebuked. “It’s a serious battle, May! A battle on a _time limit!_ Now, I’ve got to get back before she builds up her arsenal an-No! I’m not wearing that!”

May pulled a burgundy cap from the depths of her bag and shot Peter a firm look. “Do you want to spend Christmas with pneumonia?” She pulled the fluffy red hat over Peter’s ears, batting his hands away as he attempted to squirm away. “Peter! You’re wearing the Santa hat whether you like it or not or so help me!”

“May!” Peter groaned in protest. “No one else is wearing one! I’ll look like a kid.”

“You _are _a kid,” May sighed. “You look fine. I promise not to gush and embarrass you, alright? Now get back outside and finish your game before I start taking pictures.”

Peter didn’t waste time darting from the room and around the corner. “It’s a battle!” his exasperated voice echoed down the hall, followed by a more distant, “And, hi, Mister Stark!” May shook her head at her nephew’s antics, offered Tony a bright smile and a warm, “Hello, Tony” before slipping off in the direction of the yard as well.

As May exited the room, Tony noticed Stephen’s tall form leaning casually against the doorframe, hands stuffed in his cardigan pockets and blue-green eyes twinkling. “I’m glad you came.”

Tony didn’t bother trying to ignore the sudden rush of familiar heat that washed over him as Stephen walked closer, instead smiling widely and drawing a deep breath of the man’s chocolate and mint scent. “Well, I aim to please.”

The twinkle in Stephen’s eye shifted into something that could be called predatory, so briefly Tony dismissed it as a trick of the light. “I can imagine,” the sorcerer mumbled to himself, as he slid around Tony to stand behind him. “Can I take your coat?”

Tony nodded gratefully and pulled his arms from the sleeves of his coat as Stephen held it still before fiddling out of habit with the ends of his scarf. “So, it’s a small gathering?”

“By your standards, I imagine it is, yes,” Stephen teased, carefully folding Tony’s coat and draping it over the back of the couch. “There’s you and I, of course, and I believe Wong took Banner upstairs to see show off some of the more interesting relics when Peter and May went outside with Chr-”

Tony looked up from his absent scarf twirling at Stephen’s abrupt halt to find them man staring, dazed, at his fingers that were still twitching through the warm folds of the scarf.

“You have it still?” Stephen asked, reaching out to thread his own fingers through the material. “You still wear it?”

“I-Well, I,” Tony fumbled with his words, “yes?” He clung to it tightly, watching Stephen stare thoughtfully at the article, before asking, “Did you want it back?” His tone was hesitant, clearly giving away how much he hoped Stephen _didn’t _want it back.

Thankfully, Stephen quickly shook his head no at the offer and removed his hands from the scarf. “Keep it. It suits you far more than me.” 

“Well, Merry Christmas to me,” Tony joked weakly. “And to you too. Seems you pissed Wong off big time, because you got me for Secret Santa.” He pointed over to the coffee table, his gift sitting innocently on top the small mountain of other gifts. “I’ve added your gift to the collection you’ve got going over there.”

Stephen’s gaze dropped to the table and drifted over the assortment of gifts before zeroing in on the one Tony had pointed to. “Is that…Iron Man wrapping paper?”

“It’s what I had! It was that or princesses!” Tony replied sharply, feeling his face grow red. “I tried to get DUM-E to tie a bow around it, but he hadn’t the foggiest idea what to do. Little shit tried to put the thing in the blender. Remind me that I should donate him somewhere where his uselessness would be less noticeable. The post office maybe.”

Stephen chuckled lowly and took a step closer, when a terrified feminine squeak sounded from outside, followed by a shouted, “Wait, Miss Palmer!” and then the pounding of feet on hardwood floors racing towards the living room. Tony instinctively stiffened, fingers twitching towards the nano-housing unit on his chest while dark eyes darted wildly around the room looking for a threat.

“Tony?” Warm fingers wound around his hand, interrupting Tony’s increasingly paranoid thought process, grounding him in the present moment. Stephen’s swept across the back of Tony’s hand in soothing circles, and he offered a reassuring smile. “It’s alright; I should have warned you she was here. Peter convinced Christine to go out for a while for-”

A woman, ivory skin flushed and auburn curls glistening with frost, darted into the room, a gleeful sparkle in her eyes. She slipped to Stephen’s side and leaned into him as she tried to regain her breath. “A snowball fight,” Stephen finished with a laugh.

_Christine._ _Miss Palmer. _Christine Palmer. Tony knew her. Or, more accurately, of her. A surgeon. A brilliant surgeon. Someone Stephen had known for some time. A foggy memory of a magazine cover starring Stephen, clean shaven and smirking arrogantly, with his arm wrapped tightly around Christine’s waist tugged at Tony’s mind.

“That kid has crazy good aim,” Christine chuckled. “You could’ve warned me before I agreed to take him on.”

Stephen smirked, and let go of Tony’s hand to brush off some of the snow that had collected on her shoulders. “What would have been the fun in that?”

Outside, a cheerful Peter, face pink from the chill and exhilaration, passed by the window with a hefty snowball, or rather, snow boulder, over his head. “Miss Palmer! Come back outside or admit defeat!”

Stephen’s timbre laugh echoed across the room, and he shakes his arm out from under Christine’s weight. “Go on then, Christine. Don’t let a kid beat you. Besides, I think you could do with some more snow in your hair.”

“You know what?” Christine huffed, pulling the clumps of snow from her wavy locks, “so could _you._” Her hand, filled with half-melted snow, shot out towards Stephen’s head, intent on getting as many flakes as possible in his raven hair.

Something caught the light and flashed gold as her arm swung. Tony’s instantaneous, and irrational, first instincts geared him for a fight as images of Thanos’ gauntlet-clad fist glistening in the setting Titan sun flashing through his mind. But this was Earth, he reminded himself. The gauntlet was gone, destroyed. Thanos was dead, obliterated in a powerful flash of light.

This was Earth, the gauntlet was gone, Thanos was dead, and Christine Palmer wore a beautiful gold engagement ring on her finger.

Tony felt cold.

\---

Tony darted from the Sanctum and slipped onto the darkened city streets with the intent of putting as much distance as he could between himself and Christine Palmer’s large engagement ring. Snow pelted him relentlessly from above, soaking through his clothes, allowing the chill of the snowflakes to seep down to his bones. The part of him that was practical wished he’d had the state of mind to grab his coat before rushing from the party. The part of him that was always bobbing through an icy lake didn’t think it’d make any difference.

He felt cold.

It was as if a glimmering dream had been smashed before his very eyes before he even realized he’d had it. He had been wishful. Foolish. Daydreaming. He’d let hopes and imaginings of what it’d be like to be near him, to be loved, to be _warm _overtake his sensibility.

Tony berated himself for allowing himself to be swept away in such youthful naivety. Of course, Stephen had a brilliant, successful, beautiful woman pressed against his side with a glittering ring on her hand. The scarf was a friendly gesture. The nightmare was a something Stephen had simply stumbled upon. The invitation was a courtesy, and likely a favor for Peter.

“Tony!” Stephen’s usually resounding voice was muffled by the surrounding snow. Tony could just barely make out the sound feet pounding against the sidewalk behind him. “Just wait!” Stephen shouted. “Come back!”

Tony ignored him in favor of continuing his mindless trek across the city, no particular destination in mind. Stephen would get cold soon enough and go back to his laughing party guests, to his glowing fiancée, to his _warmth. _Tony could wander far longer than he should in such temperatures as long as he ended up somewhere far, _far _away from Greenwich Village.

The heavy material of his wool coat was suddenly wrapped around Tony’s back, Stephen skidding in front of him, his minty breaths drifting through the air in sharp, ragged puffs.

“Are you insane?” Stephen bellowed, none too gently pushing Tony’s arms into the coat sleeves. “It’s practically a blizzard out here! Do you have a death wish or something?”

“What do you care?” Tony dismissed gruffly, shoving Stephen’s hands away and quickly buttoning up his coat. “I would’ve put the put the armor on before frostbite began to set in. I don’t need you to chase after me. I don’t need your help.”

Stephen’s face was fractured with hurt and Tony couldn’t help but feel colder still at the sight of it. “Don’t do this Tony,” he pleaded, trembling fingers shakily threading through Tony’s. “Don’t push me away too. Not now. I-”

Tony yanked his hand from Stephen’s grip, mourning the loss of contact but convincing himself it was for the best. “Why are you here? I came to your party and dumped off your stupid Secret Santa! What more do you want from me?”

“I want-I came for you!” Stephen’s reply was sharp yet tinged with frustrated confusion. It was as if he’d expected Tony to know something and was irritated that he didn’t. “You ran off into the night without a single word. I was worried about you! How is that so difficult for you to grasp?”

“Go back home, Stephen,” Tony replied through gritted teeth as he stepped around Stephen and continued walking away. “Christine will be wondering where you are.”

“Christine? But she’s already-no, wait, Tony! Wait!” Stephen’s long strides quickly brought him back to Tony’s side, and he gently took the other man’s hands into his own once again. His face, etched with worry, did nothing to relive the jagged ice that had built in the pit of Tony’s stomach. “It’s freezing; _you’re _freezing. At least let me open a port-”

“I’m always freezing, Stephen!” Tony snapped, wrenching his arm from the sorcerer’s grasp. “How are you _not_?”

“I-Tony?” Stephen’s worried expression deepened, and his fists clenched as if wanting to reach out yet again but resisting the temptation. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

“Do you not feel it?” Tony asked, his voice dripping with desperation. He wanted, _needed _Stephen to feel it. He needed to know it wasn’t just him. That someone else had clawed their way out of Hell without feeling a single flame lick their skin. “It was cold on Titan. It was cold on the donut. The cave and the lab and Siberia and _me, _Stephen. I’m so fucking cold, colder than I ever thought I could be, and it never goes away because it’s _inside _of me!”

“Tony,” Stephen whispered, wide-eyed. “You didn’t say…I didn’t know that you…"

Tony’s eyes fluttered shut, and he sighed. Stephen didn’t understand, didn’t know how it felt. How could he? He was always so warm.

Tony turned without another word, and kept walking, shivering violently against the brisk breeze.

Stephen didn’t follow.

\---

It had nearly been a full day since Tony left Stephen on the blustery street, and he was almost convinced he had, for better or worse, reached the point where he had pushed too hard and lost yet another person to the cold. But one could never predict anything Stephen Strange was going to do, and Tony should have known better than to think Stephen wouldn’t be coming around anytime soon.

He had been heading inside from the Compound grounds after yet another frustrating test of now neon pink webbing formula when Stephen slipped through a portal, blocking Tony from entering the building. As always, the persistent chill that clung to Tony’s core instantly subsided in Stephen’s presence. Though, unlike before, it didn’t bring a sense of comfort, but rather a stabbing reminder of why he felt cold to start with.

“Get out of the way, Stephen,” Tony grumbled, trying, and failing, to dart around the man and slip through the door. “It’s colder than Hell frozen over out here.”

“Operating rooms are cold,” Stephen blurted, slamming his back up against the door, thwarting any plan Tony had at another attempt at slipping inside. “So are hospital rooms. I can’t…I can’t go inside a hospital for very long without feeling as if I’ve frozen inside out.”

Tony took a step back, overwhelmed by the rush of words pouring from Stephen’s mouth. Was this what he’d had come to tell him? That hospitals were cold? “Stephen, what’re you trying to tell m-”

“Cars…” Stephen interrupted, “I still can’t go in them. I’ve tried turning the heat all the way up, but I…I just sit there, tense and shivering, the entire drive. And sometimes….” Stephen trailed off, paling as he steeled himself for his next words. “Sometimes when I move between dimensions, it pulls at me the same way it had when I faced Dormammu and my blood freezes. Other times a traffic light turns green, and I think of the time stone resetting the loop each time I died, and for an instant, I tense, expecting the blow to come.”

And, suddenly, Tony understood. The hospital. The car. The traffic lights. They were Stephen’s Tennessee forest, his donut ship, his Siberian winter.

Stephen felt cold.

“I understand, Tony,” Stephen sighed, leaning forward off the door. His hands found Tony’s waist and latched on with a gentle squeeze. “Being cold…I understand what you said.”

“But you’re warm,” Tony accused, struggling to refocus his train wreck of thoughts. Stephen was cold, but he was _warm_. Stephen was cold, but all Tony could feel, could focus on, was the way the skin over his hips burned under Stephen’s touch. “You’ve done something.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Stephen disagreed gently. “Not really.”

“I don’t understand,” Tony huffed irritably.

Stephen groaned something that sounded fairly close to, “God help me,” before fixing Tony with an exasperated look. “I wish you’d stayed yesterday,” Stephen sighed, the tantalizing heat of his breath tracing over Tony’s face like a caress. “For a number of reasons, of course, but mostly because I never got to give you your Secret Santa gift.”

“You had me?” Tony asked, arching a brow. “Not Christine?”

“No one had Christine, Tony. She wasn’t a party guest,” Stephen huffed. “She was in the city, and the train back to Albany was delayed, and she came asking for a portal back so that she wouldn’t miss dinner with her fiancé and his parents. Peter managed to convince her to use the saved time to join his snowball war.”

Christine had stopped by. She went to dinner. In Albany. With her fiancé. Tony bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at his shoes. “…Oh.”

Stephen snorted, “Yes, ‘oh.’” He wound an arm around Tony’s waist and pulled him forward until the gap between their chests was closed. ‘Now, will you be quiet long enough to let me give you your gift?”

“You not a very friendly Secret Santa,” Tony scoffed, in spite of how, from an onlooker’s perspective, they were being _very _friendly. His whiskey eyes drifting down to rest on Stephen’s mouth and Tony couldn’t help but notice how _close _it was. “And you shouldn’t have bought me anything.”

“I didn’t,” Stephen replied smoothly. “But I still have something to give.”

“Oh?” Tony managed to sigh, thoughts clouded by sea-green eyes and chocolate-mint breath. “What is it?”

Stephen reached out slowly and ran his fingers up Tony’s jawline before settling his hand behind his ear, fingers sliding effortlessly into Tony’s dark hair. “I can’t believe how blind you are, Tony,” he sighed fondly. “It’d be endearing if it wasn’t so goddamn _maddening._”

Before Tony could retort, Stephen leaned in and firmly planted his lips against Tony’s.

It was simple, brief, and _burning. _Tony thought his blood was boiling in his veins and his brain had melted into a sloshy puddle of nothingness. There was heat and fire and warmth, and Tony could hardly believe he had let himself live so long in the cold, that he had lived so long without _this_.

Stephen pulled back just enough to draw a shaky breath, laughing softly as Tony let out a muffled huff of displeasure. “Merry Christmas, Tony.”

His lips barely brushed past Tony’s with each delicately formed word, and Tony couldn’t help but shiver and curl his fingers tightly into the back of Stephen’s coat at the sensation. He felt, more than saw, the furrow forming on Stephen’s brow at his shudder, and the arm on Tony’s waist tightened.

“It’s freezing out here,” he mumbled, drawing Tony in closer. “We should go inside.”

“But I’m warm here,” Tony protested half-heartedly. “Can’t we stay?” He craned his neck and chastely claimed Stephen’s lips as his own. “At least for a moment longer?”

“A moment,” Stephen agreed.

\---

It was midwinter again, and Stephen had rolled to the far side of the bed in his sleep, dragging the down comforter away with him as he went. Tony blinked wearily as he slowly came back into wakefulness, the unforgiving frost of winter’s night air hungrily consuming any heat his skin had held moments before. Irritation fueled by exhaustion and the enraging fact that he had been woken in such a manner for nearly a year now.

“Stephen!” Tony groaned loudly, reaching blindly behind him. His fingers managed to barely graze plush, inviting comforter from where Stephen had cocooned himself up. “You do this every goddamn night! Stop hogging all the blankets.”

Stephen grunted sleepily, struggling to pull himself from what _had _been contented slumber. He had long since grown weary of this argument and subconsciously reached out for Tony’s form to pull him back under the bedspread.

“I’m not doing anything,” Stephen protested gruffly, hand lazily pulling at Tony’s smooth hip, guiding the other man back and into his chest. “You get hot and throw them off of yourself.” Stephen gently tucked the overstuffed comforter around Tony’s smaller frame before slipping his arm back under the bedspread to pull Tony closer, enjoying the familiar feel of their skin meeting. “It’s not my fault they end up on me.”

“That’s crap, and you know it,” Tony scoffed, shifting in Stephen’s arms to get more comfortable. “I’m freezing my bare ass off all night because you want to roll yourself into a damn cocoon every night.”

Stephen hummed noncommittally and snaked a trembling hand down to gently squeeze Tony’s thigh. “My most sincere apologies to your bare ass. I’ll make it up to you sometime.”

Tony shuddered as Stephen’s fingers danced higher, barely ghosting over his skin as they went. “You stealing the covers is a ploy to get handsy and we both kno-oh!” He shivered into Stephen’s teasing touch, skin flaming under the grinning lips that brushed across his temple.

“Are you cold, Tony?” Stephen chuckled around a yawn, hand moving back up and pulling Tony closer still.

Tony groaned and gently kicked Stephen’s shin with his heel. “No, you ass.”

Stephen’s chest rumbled as he grunted in acknowledgment, already drifting back off to sleep. “Mmm, okay, Tony,” he sighed, voice faint with drowsiness. “Love you too.”

It was midwinter, and Tony thought of toasty scarves, burning peppermint kisses, and the searing feeling of scarred hands running down his skin. It was midwinter, and Tony Stark felt warm.


End file.
